Friends Don't Let Friends Faint in Public
by thegalacticpope
Summary: Damian is avoiding him, Jon just knows it. Something's not right. Little does he know, Damian's not angry, just sick.


Jon was worried to say the least. They'd been working so well together, proving to their father's that they were more than capable of being a team on their own. Jon was even managing the panic that set in whenever he was reminded how _vulnerable_ Damian was.

But now Damian was avoiding him. He was positive. During the flight to the Wayne Manor, he'd been so nervous, and as he entered Gotham airspace he'd overheard Damian tell Dick that he wanted to work alone for a while.

Jon stopped in midair. His heart sank. Damian _was_ mad at him, now he was sure.

Jon strained his ears, listening a little harder. Damian's voice was rough, there was a deeper timbre to it than before. And his heart… it was beating faster than usual. Damian was a master of meditation, his heart rate never increased unless he was doing physical exercise. He must feel strongly for him to be so worked up.

Shoulders tucking in, Jon slowly turned back towards Smallville. His parents had a place in Metropolis of course, but now he wanted the comforting present of Gran Kent and the familiarity of her farm.

It took about 7 minutes to reach the Kent farm from Gotham airspace. Gran was outside gardening, and watched his approach. She smiled at him, and it instantly warmed his heart.

* * *

"Jon!"

"Gran!" he landed and gave her a hug, careful to be gentle now that she was getting older.

"Come on, let's go inside. I just made some fresh lemonade this morning."

Jon smiled as he walked with Gran into the house. She was getting older, he knew. Dad had told him to watch her closely, not let her do too much by herself. But Gran absolutely refused to be pampered.

Jon sat at the counter as Gran poured him a large glass of lemonade and plopped two of her homemade snickerdoodles on a plate for him, Jon couldn't help but feel a bit better.

"So why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Gran."

Martha Kent gave him a look that told him she knew better. Jon sighed.

"It's Dami-Robin. He's avoiding me."

Gran looked thoughtful. "Why would he do that?"

Jon sulked a little. "I don't _know._ We were getting on just fine! Last week we even managed to shut down a whole branch of LexCorp. It's still not enough to take Luthor down, but it's a huge victory… it should be really good news… but…"

"It sounds to me like you already might know what the problem is."

"Well, during the fight… there was this guy… and Damian was fighting like three whole guys at once… but he was gonna shoot him Gran! And I wasn't paying attention enough to stop him from pulling the trigger… so I let it hit me instead." Jon paused, and took a deep breath. "I just get so scared because he's just a human! He gets hit and cut and bruised so easily! And he doesn't stop, doesn't complain, just keeps going. I think he's mad at me for taking the bullet."

Gran gave him a knowing smile. "Well–"

"It's just I'm invulnerable! He shouldn't be angry! It's not like I did it thoughtlessly! I knew I wouldn't get hurt! It was just the best tactical decision! I mean, he's my friend… I wouldn't let him get shot…"

"Jon, it sounds like you already know what you need to say? So why don't you go and say it to him?"

"He doesn't want to see me! I heard him say so!" Jon wailed.

"Sweetpea," Gran said in that knowing voice. "Sometimes you just need to say what you need to say, and that's all you can do. There might be something else going on with Robin. He doesn't know how you feel. It's best to just talk about these things."

As frustrated as Jon was with the situation, he knew Gran was right. He leapt up from his chair and hugged her, only remembering at the last second to be gentle.

"Thanks, Gran!"

She smiled and hugged him back. "Now, finish your cookies and go and see Damian."

Jon cringed when she said his name. He wasn't supposed to tell anybody Damian's civilian name.

Gran winked at him. "It's okay. I know how to keep a secret."

* * *

Damian wanted to bash his head against the wall. He probably would too, if he knew it would do any good. But concussions don't help with sickness, he knew from experience.

But that didn't take away the temptation.

Dick was talking excitedly about some children's movie he wanted to go see, and undoubtedly drag Damian along with him. Pretending his head wasn't spinning was getting to be exhausting, and Damian was just trying to make it to patrol tonight. But his exhaustion, his illness, the effort it was costing him to pretend he wasn't sick… it was all wearing on him.

"Like I would ever waste time watching an insipid children's show."

"Aw, Damian, don't be like that! We'll go togeth–"

" _I said no, Grayson."_

Instantly, Damian knew he'd been too harsh. Dick wilted a little, and got that sheepish smile he wore whenever he was embarrassed. Damian felt guilty–an annoying emotion he'd started feeling more frequently since befriending Grayson–and knew he'd have to make up for it later.

But his head is spinning. Damian closed his eyes, trying to focus.

"Damian?"

"I'm _fine."_

Gravity warped around him, and it cost Damian no small amount of effort to stay upright. He peeled open his eyes, ignoring how sensitive they were to the light and glared at Grayson.

Dick was watching him with a puzzled expression. Damian spun around. He needed space. He needed air. The air was too thick, and he felt sluggish as he swept from the room.

"Damian, wait. What's wron–"

He knew it was cowardly, but Damian couldn't help it. He ran.

* * *

Jon found him on the roof. It wasn't unusual to find Damian perched in placed where normal people didn't wander. Jon knew it had to do with how Damian was raised. He never spoke of his time in the League of Assassins, but Jon knew it weighed heavily on him, and Damian was constantly trying to make up for it. Whatever that meant.

Jon slowed and flew lower, going for a gentle landing on the roof next to Damian. His heart was heavy, with worry, with fear.

"Hey, Damia–"

His partner jumped, his heartrate spiking, and Damian whipped around launching a dagger that bounced harmlessly off Jon's chest.

Jon's heart broke. So Damian _was_ angry. He felt tears in his eyes, but willed them away.

"I know you're mad, but you didn't have to throw a knife at me. You know it can't hurt me."

"Jon," Damian said hoarsely.

"Okay, I know you're mad, but let me say what I need to say. I'm sorry I shielded you from that attack, okay? But I just didn't want you to get hurt. And I _know_ you think it was an emotional decision, but it wasn't! It was just tactical. I'm invulnerable, Damian."

Damian turned away, and took a step away from him. "Jon–"

"Look, if it is making you that mad, I promise to let you handle it on your own next time, okay?"

"Jon–"

"Just _please_ stop avoiding me."

"Jon." It was a whisper. Jon frowned.

A few things happened at once. Dick burst onto the roof, chest heaving. Jon was listening hard now, listening to Damian's elevated heart rate but there was more. His breathing sounded bad, like his lungs were… wet. Then, Damian's breathing changed. A loud exhale. Jon's eyes widened as Damian's knees buckled, and he pitched forward tumbling off the roof.

" _DAMIAN!"_ Dick was there, ready to throw himself after his brother, but Jon was faster.

He sped after his friend, his partner. Damian was unconscious, in a freefall. Luckily it slowed his descent and Jon caught him well before the ground.

Damian's head lolled and Jon frowned. He was too hot. Jon squinted, peeking with his x-ray vision into Damian's lungs. There was a liquid in them, thick and a sickly color.

"Damian!" Dick called peering over the roof. He sounded desperate.

Jon flew back to join him. "He's alright. I mean, he's not hurt from the fall. But he's really sick."

Dick's face was ragged with worry, as he pressed his fingers to Damian's sweaty face. His frown deepened.

Jon handed Damian off, and watched him carefully, listening closely for any sign of change. Damian's heart was still beating too fast. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, too focused on monitoring Damian's vitals, and before he really knew what happened, he was in the Batcave, Damian on a gurney, connected to a bunch of beeping machinery and Batman was there kneeling in front of him, saying his name.

"Jon. Jon, I need you to tell me what happened."

He was afraid, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. Batman was still Batman, even when he was Bruce Wayne, and Batman was scary. But Jon swallowed roughly, and got over his fear, looking Bruce right in the eye.

"He's really sick. There's this fluid in his lungs, they sound too wet. And his heart. It's beating too fast."

"Hm," Bruce nodded, and turned back to his son, using this new information to help him.

Dick was standing near the gurney, brushing Damian's hair from his sweaty forehead. Guilt threatened to consume Jon.

"I'm so sorry," Jon gasped, tears falling down his cheeks. "I didn't notice he was sick. I thought he was mad at me. I-I-"

"Shh, it's okay," Dick said, kneeling in front of him. "Jon, it's okay. You did it, you caught him."

"He never should have _fallen!"_ Jon was sobbing now. "How can I b-be a hero if I c-can't even notice when my best friend is sick?"

Dick gave him a hug, squeezing him tightly. "It's okay, Jon. I didn't notice either. It's not your fault. And if you hadn't been there to catch him, things would have been a lot worse. So thank you."

They stayed like that for a while, Dick rubbing small circles on Jon's back until his cries and hiccups faded, and Damian's heart steadily pulsing on the EKG.

"Do you want to stay until he wakes up?"

Jon nodded, embarrassed that he had cried in front of Damian's older brother, but was too worried to care.

"I'll call your dad and fill him in, okay? See that chair over there? Go grab it. It's the comfiest one in the whole cave, honest."

Dick went upstairs to call Clark and let him know Jon would be staying over for a while. He Donna had told him about the underlying fear invulnerables had regarding their mortal friends. He knew Jon had to be worried, and despite the own worry and guilt eating at his heart, Dick was so glad Damian had a friend.

When he came back downstairs, Jon had dragged Bruce's chair next to Damian's gurney and had curled up on it like a cat. He was fast asleep.

* * *

Damian woke to a pounding headache, that was not at all helped by the incessant beeping of an EKG. He knew instantly he was in the Batcave, and it was probably because he was sick, even if he was loathe to admit it.

He peeled open his eyes, and they widened at what he saw. Jon and Dick were… there was no way to describe it other than… cuddling. Dick was sprawled in Bruce's chair, hair mussed, and Jon was curled in his lap. They were both sound asleep. A shard of jealously seared his heart, as ridiculous as that was.

"They were worried about you. We all were."

Damian turned to see his father watching him closely. He wanted to argue, say he could handle it, but he was so, so tired. His eyelids drooped.

Bruce's face softened, and he leaned down and kissed Damian's forehead. "We _will_ talk about this. Get some rest, son."

Damian fell asleep, the warmth in his heart chasing the ache from his bones as he fell into a pleasant sleep.


End file.
